


Sua Sponte

by Zelos



Series: Administrivia [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Consequences, Gen, High School, Job Hazards, Minor Character(s), POV Minor Character, POV Outsider, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 10:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11734872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zelos/pseuds/Zelos
Summary: They were heroes. Peter was a hero. But heroism came with a cost that Peter hadn’t prepared for, when he did not accept casualties and accidents and lethal force as the price of entry.





	Sua Sponte

**Author's Note:**

> In law, _sua sponte_ (Latin: “of his, her, its or their own accord”) or _suo motu_ “on its own motion” describes an act of authority taken without formal prompting from another party.

“An _internship_.” Ken’s voice was so flat it was horizontal. He was rather allergic to the word “internship” nowadays.

He could practically hear Hogan raising eyebrows on the other end of the line. “You know, most people would be _thrilled_ at the offer of a Stark Industries internship.”

“Yes. Well.” Ken paused, choosing his words carefully. Stark Industries may have redefined military-grade encryption, but accounting hadn’t splurged for his end of the line. “Peter’s…internship…is a little unorthodox. Besides, did Ned even _apply_ for an internship?”

Assuming it was a legit internship. Which it probably was, given that Ned has—thus far—shown no indication of sprouting wings or climbing walls. Of course, Ken also hasn’t laid eyes on Ned for about three weeks, though he did know that Ned was back at school. Maybe after the recent disasters Ned and Peter had finally learned that discretion was the better part of valour?

Hogan made a wry snort. “Well, no. But we figured any kid who could hack Stark tech deserves an internship.”

“He _what?_ ”

Hogan sounded a little rueful. “Peter may have showed off some things despite the…NDA.”

Ken pinched the bridge of his nose. _Of course he did._ There was a rueful smile uncurling on his face, too.

He knew very well what Stark was doing—historically Stark’s method of fixing things seemed to be throwing money at it. Admittedly it worked to great effect in certain circumstances. Besides, for a schoolboy considering college applications, a Stark internship would be worth more than gold…so long as it actually _was_ an internship, instead of superhero training masquerading as an internship.

For all his faults, Tony Stark seemed to be taking Peter’s protection detail fairly seriously. Having Ned as part of that protection detail was probably a good idea.

“Well, far be it for me to obstruct Ned’s future,” Ken said briskly. “I’ll have David Lam from the careers office send you course outlines so you have an overview of Ned’s studies.”

“Course outlines?”

“All the better to determine a suitable research topic.” It wasn’t precisely a request. Frankly, if Hogan and/or Stark wanted to do this under the table Hogan never would’ve called in the first place. Might as well press the advantage. “There will also be a package to fill out so he can obtain school credit.”

Hogan sallied over his own terms. “We’ll need Ned’s laptop and phone.”

“Why?”

“Unauthorized access of Stark tech. As head of security, we can’t have our intellectual property unsecured.” Hogan sounded like he was puffing up. “We’ll return them when—”

“Oh, just replace them with your newest models,” Ken said archly. “You know how data is never really gone. Besides, if a fifteen-year-old with a Lenovo could hack Stark tech, it’s probably worth holding on to.”

Hogan was quiet for a moment. Then, in an uncharacteristic moment of joviality, he conceded, “I suppose Tony can use a reminder that even his tech is fallible.”

Ken allowed himself to grin. He wasn’t sure of the finer details of Hogan’s job, but not everyone fought with fists—he has ample experience with reports, documentation, and general bureaucracy. This he could win.

“Oh,” he added lightly. “I hear Stark Industries has very generous compensation packages—I assume that extends to interns?”

Stark _owed_ Ned.

 

“—yes, the requisition forms too. Thanks Monica.” Ken watched Monica Warren head back toward the science labs. She looked decidedly more stressed than she did two minutes ago.

Larry sidled up to him. “Are we any closer to finding a new science department head?”

“You make it sound like you _don_ _’t_ know the red tape involved,” Ken grumbled, _sotto voce_. “Do I look like I have a new science teacher hidden somewhere?”

Normally applicants leapt upon an empty position like a school of hungry piranhas, especially since hiring seldom occurred mid-year. But Midtown Tech’s reputation has spread far and wide. The competitive pay and outstanding reputation meant a lot less when measured against Spider-Man, his rogues gallery, and life-threatening danger; those who _did_ apply were definitely not ones who _should_ be teaching kids. Roger Harrington’s classes were being managed by a parade of semi-suitable substitutes, and his departmental head duties had been divvied out to the administrative staff and remaining science teachers (much to their displeasure). Ken received a lot of resentful looks.

At this rate, it’d be a miracle if the kids managed to pass their ACTs.

“I mean, I thought HR usually do _some_ filtering before they pass the applications through.” Ken grimaced, recalling the applications on his desk. “Are we scraping the bottom of the barrel that badly? On what planet do _violent_ —” he broke off abruptly, spotting a familiar face watching him from just outside the entrance doors. “Peter?”

He was rather used to spotting Peter in his peripheral vision nowadays. Part of it was that he was watching for Peter now, but he was also rather certain that Peter was watching _him_. If Peter felt more comfortable keeping an eye on people who knew his secret, well, that was fair. Ken and the rest of the world spent enough time scrutinizing his movements as Spider-Man.

But something in Peter’s face…even across the distance, Peter looked _worn,_ like a threadbare blanket about to tear. Ken crossed the foyer, mind running through possibilities, each one more horrifying than the last. “Peter? Are you all right?”

The boy seemed fine—in the sense that wasn’t bleeding to death under his shirt, anyway. Up close, Peter was too pale, his eyes too red, the circles under his eyes too dark. He stared up at Ken with the rigidity of a corpse, horror-grief-guilt frozen on his face.

“You’re not okay,” Ken said firmly. “Go see the—”

_“No_ ,” Peter burst out. “I’m not—I don’t—” he broke off, lips thin and fists clenched. After a full five seconds he shivered like he was bracing himself and blurted, “are _you_ okay?”

Ken blinked. “Yes?” It was true that he was stressed out nowadays. These last months has been the worst of of his career. Angry letters and calls from parents, terrible publicity, coordinating the construction, scrutiny from the top, hiring and firing, holes in the budget, all the usual administrivia that went into running a school…and on top of it, stressing about Peter, Spider-Man, Tony Stark, Ned, and the parade of collateral damage as this web of lies got bigger and bigger…

The stress was getting to him. He knew that. But he doubted any of that was worthy of attention from teenagers. They were supposed to be preoccupied with hallway crushes and their next Spanish quiz. “Why do you ask?”

Peter’s face was taut. “I’ve _seen_ you.”

“Seen me _what?_ ” Ken said suspiciously, vaguely aware that Larry was approaching.

“You—” Peter’s eyes flicked to Ken’s face, then to Larry’s, then back to Ken’s, and finally fixed at a point on Ken’s arm like he couldn’t bear to look at them. “—use,” he whispered, misery etched on his face.

There was a full ten seconds of perfect, blank silence. It wasn’t until Larry turned away and (unsuccessfully) muffled a snicker that Ken realized the mistake. “Oh. _Peter._ ”

Peter looked like he wanted to die.

Ken squeezed his eyes closed, counted to five, and opened them again. “It’s _insulin_.” He didn’t owe his medical history to anybody, but for the kid’s sake he pulled out his dogtag. “I’m okay.”

“…oh.” Relief dawned in Peter’s eyes for half a second…then his brain clicked from “I drove my principal to drugs” to “I made people think my principal was on drugs”. Peter covered his face with his hands and all but melted into the ground.

In the background, Larry sounded like he was asphyxiating.

“I appreciate your concern,” Ken tried. What little he could see of Peter’s face in between his fingers was a brighter red than his costume. “Did you, um, _tell_ anyone…?” Gossip spread like wildfire, doubly so in a school full of teenagers. If word spread, his doctor could declare his illicit-drug-free status via skywriting and _still_ not convince anybody.

“Ned?” Dismay and mortification and his own hands muffled Peter’s voice to the point of unintelligibility.

Great. Well, one kid he could handle, assuming Ned hadn’t told— “Wait, how _did_ you—?”

Ken was always excruciatingly careful when he injected insulin at school, locking himself in his office with the blinds closed, precisely because perception was reality. Besides, all considerations of gossip aside, injection required various states of undress so it was only polite.

Which meant that Peter hadn’t seen him at school. Which meant that…

Peter looked vaguely guilty between his fingers.

A lot of things suddenly made sense, down to the grocery run-ins. Ken made a mental note to close all his blinds when he gets home, and possibly line his apartment with lead (did Peter have x-ray vision? Did lead work on superheroes?).

Larry was still laughing in the background. Ken took a deep breath. “ _Mr Campbell_ , aren’t you supposed to be exorcising the photocopier or something?”

“What? Oh, right.” Larry wisely took his cue to exit, chortling the entire way. Ken gave him 0.3 seconds before the entire office staff knew. He briefly contemplated the merits of running away to Tibet.

“As for _you_ …” Peter full-body _cringed_ , and Ken’s ire snuffed out. He really couldn’t blame the kid. The stresses of the superhero business was tremendous, and Peter’s main frame of reference, Stark, had his own very publicized struggles.

“Never mind,” he sighed. He looked Peter up and down, possibly more severely than was warranted, but hey. “Was that all?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, far too quickly to be believable. He dropped his hands and nodded. “I’m good.”

Ken studied Peter for a moment. The embarrassment had returned some colour to his face, making him more human than ghost. Still, the rigidity in his spine and devastation in his eyes lingered. Peter’s assumption that he’d driven his principal to drugs and/or madness hadn’t been the half of it, it seemed.

And while they had never acknowledged the proverbial elephant in the room, Ken has the feeling that it wasn’t his knowledge of Spider-Man that was causing this.

“Hey,” he softened his voice. “Peter?”

“I’m okay.” He was definitely not okay.

“Peter.”

Peter set his shoulders—a little belligerent, a little shuttered. “It’s not about school.” That was a clear dismissal.

If this was any other kid Ken would stare at him until he cracked. If Ken’d been someone else—someone who has more of a presence in Peter’s life than a toothless authority figure, who has no jurisdiction or say-so in Peter’s private life—Ken might force the issue. But he wasn’t a confidant, and maybe that was as much for Peter’s sake as his own. He was neither family nor friend nor mentor, and he doubted Peter would appreciate the overreach.

The warning bell clanged the end of lunch; Peter chanced a glance upward. “Sorry,” he mumbled, and ran away before Ken could reply.

 

Spider-Man has not been sighted for almost two weeks. Ken has mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, Peter’s hiatus from playing chicken with bullets was a welcome respite for his sanity (he wondered how May Parker, Ned, Potts, Hogan, and/or anyone on the peripheral of these superheroes don’t all keel over from stress). On the other hand, since Peter seemed determined to continue playing chicken with bullets, the fact that he suddenly _stopped_ was very disconcerting.

Ken started checking attendance records daily. Peter was showing up at all his classes and doing all his homework (which was…probably _more_ concerning, ironically). And Ken has seen Peter around the school, so it wasn’t Peter or another enterprising Stark Industries intern falsifying attendance records.

Maybe Stark had benched Peter. There was a hopeful thought. Though…given Ken’s long experience with teenagers, the word _no_ was less a decree and more _just do it quietly_. Often with worse results.

God, how was this his life.

His email pinged with the results of the hosted SAT practice exams, followed swiftly by a conference call request and a memo about school bus maintenance. Ken was just about to close out of the student database when an account flag caught his eye.

“The hell?” Why did Peter owe…$450 and change in book replacement fees?

Oh. The _backpacks_. If Peter had been losing his textbooks at anywhere near the rate he lost his backpacks and clothes…

Ken checked the invoices. The fees were months old. Peter must’ve been borrowing his friends’ books in the meanwhile. Between lack of books and his extra-curriculars, it was a goddamned miracle that his grades were still so high.

Jesus. When Ken’d said _sometimes things get hard_ , he’d meant it as a cover-up. He hadn’t considered that maybe he had been _right_.

For one absurd, fleeting moment, he wondered if anyone had ever tried to tip Spider-Man for his services.

_Damn it, Peter._

Ken’s first and monumentally stupid instinct was to quietly pay these off. But while his budget could afford a few unexpected expenditures, several hundred dollars on the regular was more than it could take (you’d think a kid as smart as Peter would’ve learned after the first few times…). And pulling out his credit card was absolutely out of the question.

He could call May Parker. She was Peter’s legal guardian. He was fairly certain she knew about Peter’s double life…but calling her wouldn’t solve the problem. If Peter went hungry and borrowed books for months, it was likely that the Parker household just couldn’t afford it, and Peter knew better than to ask.

Ken thought back to Peter curled up in the nurse’s office, pale and pleading. _Please don_ _’t call my aunt._ Something leaden twisted in his stomach.

He was a _principal_. Calling a guardian shouldn’t feel like betrayal.

Ken clicked back to his inbox, scrolling past the flurry of unread messages. Budget overview…applications from HR…students’ progressive discipline…ah. Hogan. David Lam had cc’d Ken when he’d sent Ned’s academic records, and Hogan had sent a cursory “received with thanks” back, complete with signature block.

Ken locked his office door, closed the blinds, and snatched up his phone. When the line picked up, he didn’t even bother with a greeting: “Do you pay your interns?”

There was a pause as Hogan parsed the caller and the context. “Most of them.”

“But not Peter.”

“Peter is…a special case. He’s more Tony’s…intern than SI’s.”

Which…made sense. Having an intern on the books who never showed up, never produced anything, never logged hours, never got buzzed in, never monitored by his school, never so much as taken out the garbage…eventually _someone_ would clue in, even if it was just wondering “where did the free labour go?”. Much easier to claim Peter was periodically helping Stark on a pet project and have the “internship” be a teenager’s lost-in-translation.

It made sense. It protected Peter’s identity. It was _safe_. And yet…the idea of a fifteen-year-old risking life and limb every night, sacrificing everything from his studies to his sleep to his emotional well-being, and couldn’t even afford _food_ or _replacing his books_ at the end of it all—

Ken swallowed, disgust and fury and bile and lies burning holes in his throat. “He needs a stipend.” He hasn’t felt like this since Hogan and Stark suggested that Ned be the scapegoat for their collective mistakes.

To his credit, Hogan didn’t turn disparaging. “Did something happen?”

_Yes_ and _I don_ _’t know_ and _maybe_ swirled on the tip of his tongue. Ken swallowed them all. “He drops everything last-minute to go to…work.” The words were measured and tasted like ash. “Does he need _something to happen_ before he can get compensation?”

Maybe it wasn’t fair; there was no guidebook on child endangerment as collateral for saving the world. But these people had been in the business for years, walking that fine line between justifiable compensation and war-profiteer. Even if Peter hadn’t thought it through, _they should have._

“Okay, that’s fair,” Hogan said after a moment. “Anything else?”

“How often does Peter check in with you?”

“Once a week or so?” There was a note of defensiveness in Hogan’s voice. “It used to be every day, but we scaled back. He can handle things now without so much…direct supervision.”

_Can he now._ Ken fought the urge to laugh hysterically or throttle Hogan through the phone. “And if he doesn’t call?”

“Oh, he calls,” Hogan muttered.

“If he doesn’t?”

“Then I call him if something seems off.” Hogan was definitely frowning now. “What’s going on? Why are you—”

Ken hung up on him. It was rude and likely shooting the messenger. He really didn’t care. He grabbed his cell phone and set up a feed for Google News and every other news website he could think of, with alerts for every spelling and variant of Spider-Man that existed.

Somewhere, the remains of his personal-professional boundaries were screaming. But when Peter’s outstanding balance showed $0.00 the next day, it was hard to feel sorry about it.

 

Three more days passed before he figured out what had happened. In the end, it wasn’t some brilliant inspiration, some Stark-esque stroke of genius, but a Daily Bugle headline in twenty-eight-point font:

_SPIDER-MENACE CLAIMS ANOTHER VICTIM_

Ken choked on his decaf coffee, already scrolling through his feed.

The original story—an attempted bank robbery— had been pretty standard fare, which was why he hadn’t noticed it two weeks ago. Foiled heist, gunshots, attempted evasion. Spider-Man’d caught two easily; the last one had ran into traffic by accident.

A good night’s work. An injured robber barely made a blip on the PR radar when the rest of the night was filled with rescued kittens and foiled bike thieves and delivering groceries to the elderly. No one had noticed. People got injured in this line of work, on both sides of the law.

_The suspect was chased into traffic by Spider-Man while attempting to flee_ _…_

Except maybe they didn’t, from Peter’s perspective. When had Spider-Man caused anything worse than a couple of bumps and bruises? The Shocker, glued to a bus. The Vulture, gift-wrapped with a bow, all limbs intact. Night after night, delinquent after delinquent, webbed and tied and restrained with scarcely a scratch.

Spider-Man didn’t kill. Spider-Man barely even hurt anyone. Even with the ferry, Iron Man had scoured the bay for victims. There hadn’t been anything more serious than some water inhalation and outpatient treatments that Tony Stark had paid for.

No wonder Peter had been haunting the halls like a post-pubescent ghost. He was probably still reeling from what had happened to Ned, and now…

_Police confirmed today that the suspect has died from complications post-surgery_ _…_

He pulled the attendance records, but he already knew what he would find. Peter did not attend school today.

_Spider-Man did not remain at the scene._

Ken closed his eyes. _God, Stark._ The kid was _fifteen fucking years old_.

He couldn’t even work up anger, just a bone-deep weariness. He _wanted_ to be angry; how dare Stark bring a child into this. He wanted to be _furious_ , like he had when Stark had implied that another fifteen-year-old boy should end up a scapegoat. But sometime since then he’d realized that this was the superhero biz. Sometimes people got hurt. Sometimes people couldn’t be saved.

Sometimes they brought in grief counsellors.

He remembered Ned coming out of the police station, hunched and pale and small. He remembered Peter’s expression, devastation in blue eyes.

He remembered Tony Stark, a red and gold meteor falling from the sky.

_God, Stark._

Ken closed the blinds and locked the door. He stood there for a moment, sagging against the wood. His office shuttered out the outside world, small and suffocating and safe.

For a moment, his heartbeat drowned out the background din filtering through thin walls. For a moment, his office felt like a grave.

When he felt like he could breathe again, he went back to his desk and picked up his phone.

Hogan answered on the first ring. He’d been expecting the call. “You saw it?” His voice was almost tentative, his prior defensiveness gone.

Maybe Hogan was out of his depth, too. “He didn’t tell you?”

“No. I knew he hadn’t been working. But he said…he said he had a physics test to study for. I don’t _see_ him.” Hogan sounded genuinely upset. “I check the news. But…accidents happen. No one had _died._ I didn’t think—”

“I know,” Ken said wearily. “It comes with the job.”

There was a very sharp divide in perspective here, worsened by age and experience. The Avengers were trotted out for mass devastation, where it was understood and expected that not everyone could (or even should) be saved. Each of them had served as soldiers on scales large and small. Maybe they didn’t feel good about it, but they knew loss was part of the job—sometimes by their own hands. Thor’s lightning was not a party trick.

They were heroes. Peter was a hero. But heroism came with a cost that Peter hadn’t prepared for, when he did not accept casualties and accidents and lethal force as the price of entry.

“Is Stark talking to him?”

“Trying to. I don’t think it’s working.”

Ken wasn’t surprised. A death was a failure, his reaction to such another failure; at his lowest, Peter could not hear that he wasn’t cut out for this, even if Stark would never say such a thing.

Nobody was cut out for this.

“Should I call his aunt?” Hogan sounded at a loss.

“Yes.” There were limits on how much they could spare Peter’s aunt from their collective mistakes. He owed May Parker a call too. “Maybe get him a counsellor. Tell me you have counsellors.” The Avengers may not be considered well-adjusted individuals by normal standards, but surely they had counselling. They would all be walking shells otherwise.

Ken wasn’t sure they weren’t, actually.

He could hear Hogan grimace. “That’d be hard when he hasn’t signed the Accords. I’m not sure confidentiality would cover this.” A tightly drawn breath. “We used to have a guy who worked with the VA, before…”

_Before he went on the run._ Didn’t help them now. “Figure something out. For May Parker, too.” There were support groups for military and law enforcement families. Superheroes’ loved ones should count, too.

“Okay. Peter, and May. More frequent check-ins.” Hogan sounded a little steadier now that he had a sounding board and something to write down. “What else?”

“Ned too.” Different situations, different traumas, but needing support all the same. “Call it an internship benefit. More training?” Surely something from SHIELD prepared heroes for things like this?

Hogan laughed, a little ragged, a little raw. “What about us?”

_What_ about _us?_ He didn’t say it, hung up instead without a goodbye. He didn’t realize that he’d called Hogan from his cell until his phone clattered onto his desk.

Ken stared at his phone for a long moment, then turned it over with numb fingers. Hogan’s name, saved to his contacts, was the first entry on his call history. Spider-Man flared on his news feed as various outlets followed Daily Bugle’s suit, mostly variations upon the same. The Bugle must be having a field day. Jameson always did have an axe to grind against Spider-Man.

He thought of Ned shuffling out, ink on his fingers. Tony Stark strutting, strain behind dark eyes. Hogan’s voice on the line, twisted with dread. Watching these kids was like staring at his own bones, and he didn’t much like what he saw.

Ken had never mentioned Spider-Man during his calls to Hogan—not in those exact words. But any idiot listening in would parse the meaning. He’d been lying through his teeth all along, but somehow he’d gone from plausible deniability and noncommittal excuses to deliberate interference and accessory to a crime. He’d thrown himself over the edge without realizing it.

Maybe it wouldn’t change anything. Some things even Tony Stark—who had taken on the Senate, SHIELD, and aliens from space—couldn’t fix, never mind a high school principal.

But for a kid who spent as much time on returning teddy bears as he did on saving the world? Damned if Ken didn’t try.

 

Ned entered his office and slid into the seat wordlessly, wariness painted on his face.

“Hello Ned. I’ve some good news for you.” He couldn’t quite work up what would be his usual enthusiasm given the company in question, but Ken managed to smile. “Normally Mr Lam from the careers office would handle this, but since Stark Industries reached out to me personally about this I thought I would break the news to you instead.”

Ned started slightly at the words _Stark Industries_. He frowned, alarm warring with suspicion. “What news?”

“You’ve been selected for an internship with Stark Industries.” Ken slid a thick packet of paper across his desk to Ned. “This is your offer letter and the accompanying details.”

Ned’s mouth fell open. He glanced at the packet, emblazoned neatly with the Stark Industries logo, then back at Ken. “An _internship?_ ”

“Yes,” Ken said wryly. “A 100% legit, _genuine_ internship.” The emphasis may have been poor form. Oh well.

Ned gaped at the offer package like it was a mirage, eyes wide. “I didn’t even _apply_ for an internship.”

“Yes, well. Apparently you’d impressed them with your…experiments on Peter’s things.” Ned flushed guiltily at that. Ken bit back a rueful grin and schooled his expression to suitable professionalism.

Ned tentatively reached for the ream of paper and flipped through it, looking overwhelmed at the fine print. “Wow. Um, where do I sign? When do I _start?_ ”

“You don’t. At least not without reading through this first,” Ken added quickly as Ned’s face fell. “If you have any questions or want to change things, we can contact Stark Industries and get them changed. That is, if you choose to accept.”

Ned blinked. “I get to ask questions?” He sounded gobsmacked at the very idea. “I get to _change things?_ ” His eyes landed on a particular line and bugged out. “I get _paid?_ ”

“Yes, you get paid. And yes, you can ask for changes—within reason. You probably won’t get a limo chauffeur every day even if you ask.” Stark Industries’ compensation was so generous that most people didn’t negotiate at all, but that was not the point of this learning experience. “Normally the prospective employee negotiates before the offer letter is committed to writing, but since the process was a little unorthodox we have a little leeway for changes once you read through your offer.”

“I’m not an employee, though,” Ned pointed out.

“Internships are where you learn proper employee behaviour,” Ken answered. “You don’t have to decide anything now. Read it over, talk it over with your parents. Let me know when you’re ready.”

“I…wow.” Ned flipped back to the first page of the package, tracing the Stark Industries letterhead. “I’m…not sure I deserve this.”

That made his chest ache a little. For both their sakes, he tried to keep his voice even. “Ned? Anyone who can hack Stark tech with a Lenovo deserves an internship and more. I’m not the only one to think so, either.”

Ned ducked his head a little, embarrassed but pleased. “They said that?”

“Yes.” Ken thought of Ned at the station again; his smile turned a little pained. “You are…a lot better than you give yourself credit for.”

“Um.” Ned blinked, two spots of colour high on his cheeks. “Thanks, Mr Morita.” He took a deep breath and hugged the ream of paper to his chest, eyes shining. “I’ll do my best.”

“I know. And Ned?” He waited until the boy looked him in the eye. “If you have concerns, please talk to us. I know it doesn’t always seem like it, but…we’re in your corner too.”

Ned’s brows creased a little at the weight of the words. His gaze fell into his lap, mouth pressed tight. “I know.” He looked up again and smiled, genuine if a little watery. “Thanks.”

It wasn’t much of an apology. It wasn’t even much in the way of reparation. But Peter had his career prospects (if not emotional well-being) assured by way of Tony Stark. Ned deserved no less.

His phone buzzed. Ken glanced down at it, then back up at Ned. “Go back to class.” The boy slipped out of the office, almost skipping.

Hogan had sent Ken a new phone earlier, undoubtedly encrypted to the moon and back. Hogan’d also sent him a text just now, straight to the point: _still working on it_. It was something.

Maybe he was doing something right.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve read many excellent fics with Tony consoling Peter over the hazards of the job, but not only has Tony killed, Tony was also the one to build a kill mode into Peter’s suit (my thoughts on that is a long meta that is neither here nor there). Between Ned, Tony, job hazards, and mistaken assumptions about drugs, I think Peter would need some time before he could bring himself to return to webslinging.
> 
> I rewrote this story about four times, since I struggle with balancing Principal Morita as a peripheral ally (who isn’t saving the day) against him being the narrator. Hopefully his transition from “noncommittal making things up and plausible deniability” to “actively, deliberately helping, even in small ways” makes sense. Also, technically Ned’s laptop is a Dell, but I figured the principal doesn’t know or care about the details. ;P
> 
> The fifth and final part is in the works, though suggestions are always welcome. Given how hard a time I had with this story I can use all the help I can get. So far I have thoughts about bringing in May, Daily Bugle smear campaigns, and…some Ned internship shenanigans. :)
> 
> Huge thanks to Nyxelestia and Imbecamiel for reworking my plot for me. :D


End file.
